


Tumblr Prompts Collection

by MyChemicalRachel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Omega Derek Hale, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:32:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyChemicalRachel/pseuds/MyChemicalRachel
Summary: Every chapter is a stand-alone. Sterek is the main pairing in all of them, but there might be background pairings in each. I'll add tags as more chapters are added. You can send me prompts ontumblr





	1. He's a Little Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Derek is an omega (cliche! Small and thin and soft!) And Laura is an alpha that always bothers him calling him cockslut or things like that but his parents do not do anything because they think Laura is just playing, maybe there are other omegas in the pack but Laura just bothers Derek. One day is too much for him so he runs away from home and meets Alpha! Stiles, who treats him well and tries to help him improve his self-esteem. maybe Laura apologizes but Stiles sends her to hell.
> 
> I kind of went off prompt on this one, but I tried my best.

His legs are burning. His feet feel like they’ve been ground into stumps and his chest heaves like it’s going to collapse in on itself any moment now.

_ Just a little farther _ , he promises himself, but even the voice inside his head doesn’t seem convinced.

Derek’s never run like this before. Never this hard, this fast, this long. Like his life depends on it. And it might. If Laura catches him now, she’ll kill him. And then all of this will have been for nothing.

He just has to keep running.

His shin hits something hard and even his exhausted werewolf senses aren’t enough to keep him from toppling over in the dark, diving face first into the mud. He tastes leaves and earth in his mouth. Derek’s chest heaves again, this time with a broken sob. He could lay here in the middle of the forest floor, surrounded by the trees, and just let it end.

He pushes himself up with scraped hands. His legs give out within a few steps and he finds himself falling again. He closes his eyes and breathes deep, uneven breaths. No. This is not how it’s supposed to end.

With his senses run ragged, Derek doesn’t hear the footsteps approach until a voice calls out from several feet away. “Hey! Hey, man, are you okay?”

It’s a boy. Definitely not Laura. He doesn’t smell like a wolf either. He smells of cinnamon and fire. Safe, in a way Derek can’t begin to explain.

Derek inhales a shaky breath and tries to ask for help, but everything goes fuzzy. His mouth is dry and his lungs feel deflated, empty. The boy’s voice resonates somewhere in the back of his mind, but Derek can’t make out any words. It’s soothing, the way his tone rises and falls, and Derek doesn’t feel so scared when unconsciousness pulls him under.

 

He awakes with a start. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, but he can feel the effects. His senses are back to normal, his energy restored, and his body back to full functioning order. But… something is wrong. The smell of fire fills his lungs like physical smoke, but he can’t see a source. And the room he’s in… it’s a bedroom. Navy blue walls and striped curtains that dim the sunlight streaming in through the windows. He’s on a bed, blankets strewn out and covering his body. He’s still in the muddy clothes from last night and somewhere in the back of his mind he feels guilty for getting the sheets dirty. But his guilt is pushed aside by panic, alertness, because he’s not sure where he is or how he got to be here.

Derek forces himself to relax. He knows he can figure this out, but he needs to focus.

Voices. There are voices coming from downstairs. The smell of bacon and warm coffee. Nothing that seems to be immediately endangering him.

Slowly, Derek pushes the blankets back and steps out of bed. He glances at the bedroom door, closed, and makes his way toward the window. However he got here, whoever is downstairs, Derek doesn’t want to stick around to find out.

The window opens without so much as a squeak. He’s only on the second floor, so escape should be easy. It seems almost too easy. Until Derek grabs onto the window sill and starts to climb out. His leg hits some invisible boundary, shimmering gold for a second like glitter in the sun. He tries again and the same thing happens.

Wards. Magic. He’s trapped inside. Shit.

He listens again. The voices have stopped and there’s the distinct sound of stairs. Someone’s coming.

Derek turns back to the bedroom door. It feels like a pinprick on the tips of his fingers when his claws extend. Whatever is on the other side of that door, he is not going down without a fight.

When the door swings open, Derek is once again overwhelmed with the scent of fire. Standing there in flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt, looking as harmless as a bunny, is a boy. He’s got a piece of toast in his hand and he takes a bite, seeming unconcerned. He waves the piece of toast in the general direction of the window, not bothering to swallow his food before saying, “Sorry about the wards. You want some breakfast?”

Derek’s stomach rumbles at the concept of food, but he doesn’t know who this guy is. He can’t trust him, let alone eat whatever food he gives him. “Who are you?”

The kid wipes his hand on his pants and then sticks it out. “Stiles.”

Derek looks at the hand then back up at the boy.

He lets his hand fall back to his side. “You want to do this formally? Fine.” He swallows and clears his throat and suddenly his brown eyes are glowing blood red. Derek feels his blue eyes flash back in involuntary response. His voice sounds a thousand years older and wiser as he says, “I am Alpha Mieczysław Stilinski of the Beacon Hills pack.” Then he blinks and the formal facade is gone. He rolls his once again brown eyes, taking another bite of toast. “But my friends call me Stiles.”

“You’re not a werewolf,” Derek says. But even as the words leave his mouth, he can feel the undeniable energy coming off of him. He feels like an Alpha.

“Not a werewolf,” Stiles agrees. “Human. Mostly human. With a touch of Spark. Still an Alpha.” He sighs, shifting on his feet. He looks like he’d rather be doing any other than having the conversation. “Look, can we go downstairs? There’s food and coffee and I have a few questions for you.”

Derek wants to argue. He wants to run as fast he can away from this stranger. But something holds him in place, whether it be curiosity or stupidity. He nods and follows Stiles downstairs.

In the kitchen, as promised, is food and coffee. Stiles hands him an empty plate and a mug, gesturing toward the food and telling him to help himself. Derek hesitates.

He knows how packs work. The Alpha is fed first, then the others. Omegas are last. This is a test, Derek thinks. Stiles is testing him.

Derek steps back, bowing his head in submission.

“Oh no,” Stiles groans. “Cut that shit out. Seriously, just eat.”

Derek assumes this is an order and steps toward the food again. When they’re both seated at the table with plates of food before them, Derek watches Stiles closely. He waits for Stiles to take the first bite, and then follows suit. He doesn’t touch his coffee until after Stiles drinks his own. Eventually Stiles looks up at him, frowning. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Derek immediately looks down.

“Shit, no. That’s not--” Stiles exhales sharply. “Stop listening to me. Do whatever you want. I’m not your Alpha.”

“But you are an Alpha,” Derek says, his voice low. He still doesn’t look up.

“Yeah, but I’m human,” Stiles says, shrugging. “So I’m not really a traditional Alpha anyway.” Silence lays heavy over the table for a long moment and Derek can sense the question before it’s spoken aloud. “Do you have an Alpha?”

Derek hesitates. “Not anymore. I ran away.”

Stiles nods slowly. “That’s why I found you bleeding out in the woods last night. Because you ran away from your pack.”

“Not a pack,” Derek corrects. “It’s just my sister and I. She’s my Alpha.”

“And you didn’t like the way she treated you.” It’s not a question, but Derek feels compelled to answer anyway.

“She’s my Alpha and I’m an Omega.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s allowed to treat you like shit.” Derek is surprised at the hardness in Stiles’ voice. “Alpha’s are protectors of their packs, not dictators.”

Derek snorts. “Yeah, maybe where humans are involved.”

Stiles studies him for a second. “You never told me your name.”

Derek counters this with a question of his own. “Are you keeping me hostage here?”

Stiles actually laughs, a bright sound that settles in Derek like an anchor. “No, of course not.”

“What about the wards?”

Stiles shrugs. “When I found you last night, I figured you were running from something. I set those up to protect you. Not to keep you in. You’re free to go whenever you want.”

Even though he doesn’t hear a blip in Stiles’ heart, it feels like a lie. There’s no way Stiles will just let him leave. Derek stands up, walking to the door. Stiles follows close behind, watching as Derek flips the deadbolt and pulls the door open. Hesitantly, Derek steps outside. No barrier, no magic wall. Just a crisp morning breeze that sends chills over his arms.

Stiles, still inside the house, tilts his head to the side, studying Derek. “Like I said, you’re free to leave. But if you want to stay, you can. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

The idea of having someone offer help, an Alpha no less, it gives Derek a feeling he’s never had before. A feeling of home and safety, somewhere he actually belongs. He swallows hard, tramping those feelings down so they don’t bubble over, and nods. “Derek,” he says. “My name is Derek.”


	2. Call Me Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stiles and Derek meet at the club or something and it's love at first sight, but then Stiles spends weeks angry because Derek never called him, they meet later and it turns out that Stiles gave him his number wrong!

Stiles didn’t believe in love at first sight. It was a load of shit. Sure, there was affection at first sight. Lust at first sight. But there was no way to see someone and immediately fall in love.

Well, at least that’s what he thought until he met Derek.

In the midst of a crowded club, with flickering purple and red and blue lights, the feeling of the music in his bones and beer in his stomach, Stiles flails through a sea of bodies to the bathroom. When he spots the line waiting all the way down the hall, he groans. His bladder aches. He could pee outside. Nobody would ever know. But he’d waited for thirty minutes before they’d even let him and Scott inside the club and if he goes outside now, he’ll have to stand in line all over again. Resigned, he falls into line with the other people waiting for the bathroom.

As he leans back against the wall, bouncing slightly on his heels, his gaze lands on a booth near the back of the club. Farthest away from the speakers, secluded. Seated alone in the booth, hunched over a book, is the hottest man Stiles has ever seen.

Almost without willing his feet to move, Stiles finds himself drawn to the man. For the moment, his urge to pee forgotten, his entire being is zoned in on this man.

Stiles slides into the booth opposite the guy. He looks up over the edge of his book, quirking one eyebrow silently.

Stiles grins. Now that he’s closer, he can see the book title. Stiles feels his heart nearly leap out of his chest. “Fucking marry me,” he says.

Something resembling a smile pulls at the stranger’s lips. “Excuse me?”

“Clockwork Orange.” Stiles nods unnecessarily toward the book in his hands “That’s my favorite book.”

The man puts his finger between two pages and lets the book fall closed. “Is it now?”

Stiles nods vigorously. He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Oh absolutely. And though I would recommend everyone read it, the back of a club isn’t exactly ideal environment for that.”

The stranger laughs. The flashing lights catch his eyes and they seem to glow. He ducks his head shyly and Stiles falls a little bit in love. “I’m not a people person.” His eyes skim the dancefloor, settling on someone Stiles doesn’t care to see. “I’m here with my sisters. They needed a designated driver.”

Stiles nods, reaches his hand out across the table. “Well I am more than happy to keep you company. I’m Stiles.”

The hand that slides into his own is warm and calloused and it lingers enough to make Stiles’ skin tingle. “I’m Derek.”

They talk for a few more minutes before Stiles remembers what brought him to this part of the club in the first place. The line to the bathroom seems to have diminished and Stiles jumps up, hesitating before he goes. “Wait here,” he tells Derek. “Don’t leave yet. I’ll be right back.”

A smile pulls at Derek’s lips again. That damn smile. Yeah, Stiles is definitely head over heels for this guy. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And when Stiles returns from the bathroom, Derek is still there as promised. This time, though, a few girls have joined him at the table. Stiles approaches cautiously, unsure if he’s still welcome. But one of the girls looks up and beams. “Is this him?” Her voice is only a little slurred. “Derek, he’s cute!”

Derek looks up and Stiles could swear he sees a blush across his cheeks. Derek scoots over on the booth to make room for Stiles. As Stiles sits, he’s pretty sure his heart can be heard over the music. He’s pressed against Derek’s side, from shoulder to hip.

“I’m Laura!” The first girl shouts and gestures to the girl beside her. “And this is Cora! You know, I have been telling Derek that he needs to get laid, I am so glad he found you!”

Stiles face burns and he glances over to see Derek glaring at his sister. “Laura, stop talking.”

Laura waves him off with the swish of her hand. “Oh come on, Der-bear. Lighten up.” She grabs for a drink on the table, but Derek pulls it out of her reach.

“I think you two have had enough.”

Laura frowns at him. “Party pooper.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“You’re gonna take the hottie home, right?” Cora asks, her words only a little clearer than Laura’s had been. She leans across the table, putting her hand up like she’s trying to whisper, and yells, “Did you see his ass!?”

“Okay, it’s time for you to go home,” Derek tells her. Stiles deflates, suddenly crushed by the idea that tonight has to end already. He’s not ready to tell Derek goodbye. But then Derek looks over at him. “Are you here with anyone?”

“Just my brother,” Stiles says dismissively, “and his girlfriend.”

Derek’s hands fidget with the corner of his book, looking nervous. “I could give you a ride, if you want.”

And yeah. Stiles definitely wants.

 

After dropping his sisters off at their shared apartment, Derek drives. Stiles isn’t sure he actually has a destination in mind, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to go home. Derek hasn’t asked where Stiles lives yet, so Stiles can guess he doesn’t want this to end either.

After a few minutes of silence, Derek clears his throat. “I’m not reading this wrong… right?”

Stiles glances over at him, but Derek is staring straight ahead. His jaw is tensed and his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Stiles chews on his lip, contemplating how to handle this with tact, and decides  _ fuck it _ . He presses the release on his seatbelt and leans over the center console. His hand comes to rest on Derek’s thigh, way too close to be just friendly, and he gives the best damn bedroom eyes he can manage.

Derek looks over at him, swallows hard, and nods. “Yeah, that clears things up.” He presses down on the gas peddle and turns the steering wheel, this time having a destination in mind.

 

They’re barely in Derek’s door before Stiles finds himself pinned against the wall with a tongue in his mouth. He’s got handfuls of hair and clothing and… too fucking much clothing. He pulls at Derek’s jacket and then his shirt, trying his best to de-clothe them without breaking the kiss because if he’s being honest it’s the best damn kiss Stiles has ever had.

“Hey,” Derek murmurs softly, slowing the kiss and taking hold of Stiles’ hands. “Wait.”

Immediately, Stiles pulls back. “What’s wrong?”

Derek smiles and presses a chaste kiss to Stiles’ waiting lips. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking we should go to the bedroom. Or at least the couch.”

Stiles finds himself nodding. “Yes. Both. Either. I don’t care. I just want to kiss you again.”

Derek turns to study the apartment. “Couch,” he decides with a smirk. “And then maybe the bedroom after that.”

And Stiles likes that idea. He claims a seat on the couch while Derek turns the TV on, finding something random on Netflix. A documentary about wolves, it looks like, but Stiles isn’t paying much attention when Derek sits down next to him. They kiss for what seems like hours, slow and lazy like they’ve known each other forever. There’s groping and grinding and Stiles ends up straddling Derek’s lap with Derek’s hand down his jeans, their foreheads pressed together.

They move to the bedroom soon after that, where Stiles takes his time undressing Derek, kissing every available inch of him.

When they fall asleep, cradled together like lovers, Stiles’ last conscious thought is that he is going to fucking marry this guy one day.

 

When Stiles wakes up, it’s past noon and he is so fucking late for work. He’s scrambling for the clothes he lost last night when Derek blinks, watching him with tired eyes. “Are you leaving?”

His hair is unkempt and his voice is rough. Stiles wants nothing more than to climb back into bed with him and never leave. But he can’t.

“I have work,” Stiles says. He almost trips trying to pull his jeans on. “My dad is going to kill me.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Your dad?”

“I work with him,” Stiles explains, and puts his shirt on backwards. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to six thousand missed calls, from his partner and his dad. “He’s my boss. And I am so late. Shit, I am in so much trouble. I had a lot of fun. Like, a lot. And I swear I’m not one of those guys that runs out the next morning but I really really have to go.”

“Can I call you?” The hopeful look in Derek’s eyes makes Stiles think about calling in sick and just staying here forever.

“Yes. Fuck yes.” Derek sits up and finds a pen in the nightstand drawer, handing it to Stiles. Stiles scribbles his number across Derek’s palm and then kisses him. “Call me.”

“I will,” Derek says, but Stiles doesn’t hear him. He’s already running out of the apartment.

 

Stiles is late for work. Of course he is. His dad is frowning when he races into the station, an apology coffee in hand. His dad takes the coffee, but keeps the frown. “I’ve been calling you for hours. I even had Scott go by your place, he said you hadn’t been there all night.”

Stiles grimaces. He hooks his badge in place on his uniform and says, “I know. I went home with someone else last night.”

John raises an eyebrow at that. “You went home with someone?”

Stiles blushes and his dad raises his hands, shaking his head. “I don’t care, Stiles. You’re twenty-three years old. You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want in your own time. But you’re also a deputy and this morning you were two hours late for your shift.”

“I know,” Stiles groans. “And I am sorry. It will not happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t.” John sips at his coffee and frowns some more. “This coffee sucks. Call your partner, apologize to her, and then sit your ass at a desk and do some paperwork.”

“Dad, you can’t do that,” Stiles argues. “I need to be on patrol. Not desk duty.”

“Show some damn responsibility and you can have patrol back,” John snaps. “For now, you have reports to file.”

 

Stiles waits three days for Derek to call him before he starts to panic. He had fun with Derek. He enjoyed Derek’s company. Not just the sex, but the conversation. And he thought Derek felt the same. But if Derek felt the same, wouldn’t he call?

Stiles works extra hard at the station to keep his mind off things. Derek probably got busy. Or maybe he’s nervous about calling. He just needs to give it a little more time.

By the time three weeks pass, Stiles has given up all hope. He knows how to take a hint; no call from Derek means Derek just wasn’t interested. And Stiles is a big boy. He can accept rejection. But it sucks and he’s resigned himself to sulking.

 

Standing in line at a coffee shop is the last place Stiles thought he would run into Derek again. It’s crowded this early in the morning, but the whole place is silent save for the spoken orders and the machines behind the counter. Stiles calls this zombie hour, when everyone is still half asleep and waiting to be caffeinated.

Stiles doesn’t recognize him at first, standing behind the counter. He’s wearing glasses now, perched on the end of his nose that he pushes up every few minutes. Those glasses do something to Stiles and he bites his lip to keep from thinking those kinds of thoughts in public.

He doesn’t want this confrontation. He wonders if he could slip out of the coffee shop unnoticed and book it to the Starbucks on the corner before work. But then he realizes he’s at the front of the line, coming face to face with the best night of his life.

“What can I get y--” Derek’s word trail off as he looks up. “Stiles.”

And Stiles knows he should just order his drink and leave, but an inexplicable rush of anger and sadness fills him. “You never called me.”

Derek simply blinks at him, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “What?”

More anger fills him. “You never fucking called me, you asshole. If you didn’t want to see me again, you could have just told me that.”

He furrows his brow and shakes his head in a jerky motion. “I did call. The number you gave me was--”

“Hale!” Someone calls from behind Derek’s shoulder. “What’s the holdup? We’ve got a line!”

Derek huffs out a breath through flared nostrils. “What can I get you today?”

“Americano, large.” Stiles says.

When Derek hands over the cup, his fingers brush Stiles’. He leans forward and says, “I can go on break in ten minutes. Please, just let me explain.”

And so Stiles finds an empty table and stares into his coffee. Ten minutes later, as promised, Derek is claiming the empty seat across from him. Without preamble, Derek says, “The number you gave me was fake.”

“It was not fake,” Stiles counters. “Why the hell would I give you a fake number?”

Derek shrugs, like he’s asked himself the same question a thousand times. “Some lady named Angela answered. She thought I was her grandson and I was on the phone with her for two hours, Stiles.  _ Two hours _ .”

Stiles is shaking his head. “No, no. I didn’t give you a fake number. I waited three weeks for you to call me back.”

Derek takes out his cell phone and scrolls through his history before setting it down for Stiles to see. “This is the number you gave me.”

Stiles leans forward, frowning when he sees where it went wrong. “That nine, it’s supposed to be a four.”

Derek makes no move to take his phone back. “Did you really think I wouldn’t call you?”

Stiles scoffs. “Did you really think I would give you a fake number?”

Derek laughs softly. “We’re both kind of dumbasses, huh?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. He grabs Derek’s phone, typing in his correct number and sending a text to himself. His own phone beeps with the new alert. “There. Now you have my number, and I have yours. Call me. For real this time. I have to get to work.”

Derek nods, a blush creeping onto his cheeks when he says, “So you’re a cop.”

“I even have my own handcuffs,” Stiles says, winking. But when Derek blushes harder, Stiles realizes he’s hit a freaking goldmine. “Holy shit, you’re into bondage.”

Derek just glares at him.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, and leans in, lowering his voice. “I think I just realized I have a glasses kink.”

A smile stretches across Derek’s face. “We have some negotiating to do.”

“Maybe after dinner?” Stiles offers.

Derek leans across the table to press a soft kiss to Stiles’ lips. “It’s a date.”


End file.
